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Vivi’s hand found mine, her touch warm, steady, as we left the office, the night air cool against our skin.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, but her eyes burned with life, with purpose.
We didn’t speak as we drove to West Hollywood, the city’s pulse matching ours. The hotel terrace I’d promised was ours—keycard access, no cameras, a private garden high above L.A.’s glitter, jasmine vines curling around iron railings, the skyline a sea of lights.
Vivi’s dress shimmered under the moon, her curves a siren’s call, and I pulled her close, our lips meeting in a kiss that was sweet, not brutal, a slow burn of love and need.
“You’re fearless,” I said, voice rough, my hands sliding to her hips, lifting her dress to reveal lace panties, her skin soft under my fingers.
She smiled, her hands unbuttoning my shirt, tracing the welts she’d left, her touch gentle but electric. “Only with you,” she murmured, her lips brushing my chest, her tongue flicking a nipple, sending a jolt to my cock.
I lifted her onto the stone ledge, the city sprawling below, her legs wrapping around me.
My cock strained against my slacks, and she reached down, freeing it, her fingers wrapping tight, stroking slow, teasing the tip with her thumb, pre-come slicking her touch. I groaned, fascinated by her confidence, the way she played with me, her eyes locked on mine, green and glowing.
“Vivi,” I rasped, my hands sliding under her dress, cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples through the lace.
She tugged my cock harder, guiding it to her panties, rubbing the head against her clit, the lace wet, her moan soft and sweet. I pushed the fabric aside, her pussy warm and glistening, and slid a finger inside, curling, her walls clenching, her breath hitching.
She stroked my cock in rhythm, her grip firm, her other hand cupping my balls, rolling them gently, a dance that made my knees weak.
“More,” she whispered, her voice a plea, her lips kissing mine, slow and deep.
I lifted her, laying her on a cushioned chaise, the jasmine scent mingling with her arousal. I stripped her dress, her panties, leaving her bare, her body a canvas of curves I adored.
She spread her legs, stroking my cock, guiding it to her entrance, teasing, rubbing the head against her folds. Her handsroamed, her touch a sweet torment. I thrust in, slow, savoring her tightness, her moan a melody that grounded me.
“Elias,” she gasped, her hips meeting mine, her pussy pulsing, her fingers never leaving my cock, tugging, stroking, driving me wild.
I kissed her breasts, sucking gently, my hands lifting her hips, angling deeper, her moans soft, her body trembling.
She came, a quiet wave, her pussy clenching, her fingers tightening on my cock, and I followed, my release spilling into her, warm and endless, our bodies entwined, sated.
We lay there, her head on my chest, the city humming below, her hand lazily stroking my cock, soft now but stirring under her touch.
“You’re insatiable,” I murmured, kissing her hair, her laugh a warm vibration.
She looked up, eyes bright, and I knew—this was us, sweet and fierce, forever.
I laughed, pulling her close, the future burning bright. Jessa’s death, Department 77, the images—they’d wait.
Tonight, we were whole, and as I held her, I hoped, God willing, this would be our life until my last breath.
EPILOGUE
VIVIENNE
It was early fall in Charleston, though the city didn’t seem to notice. The humidity still curled my hair the minute I stepped outside, and the air still smelled like salt and moss and a storm that hadn’t yet made up its mind. The trees along the Battery were just beginning to bronze at the edges, but summer hadn’t truly loosened its grip.
Not that I minded.
Everything else had shifted.
I had shifted.
My mother was settled now, her days marked by familiar routines and soft music, by Emmaline’s visits and the scent of gardenias planted just outside her patio door. She didn’t always know who I was, but she smiled when I sang. That was enough.
Emmaline had made her decision. She and her husband were officially moving to Charleston with the baby. Elias had found them a historic house not far from the waterfront—white clapboard, blue shutters, wraparound porch. He coordinated the renovations, the movers, even the baby’s new daycare, like it was just another mission to execute. He never called attention to it. He just quietly made sure the people I loved were safe.